


Strawberry Golden Hair Surprise

by Geelady



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geelady/pseuds/Geelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: Case-fic’. Some angst. Violence. Light humour, and of course Jane-pain. Sorry, no smut in this one. Cho/Jane are temporarily quits, remember?<br/>Characters: Jane/Lisbon friendship; Jane/Cho According to protocol office romance; (My favourite fellows. They are equally hot which is why they’re so good together on screen and in fic’).<br/>Summary: One out of every twenty strangers you meet is a psychopath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Golden Hair Surprise

Strawberry Golden Hair Surprise (the complete story)  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic’. Some angst. Violence. Light humour, and of course Jane-pain. Sorry, no smut in this one. Cho/Jane are temporarily quits, remember?  
Characters: Jane/Lisbon friendship; Jane/Cho According to protocol office romance; (My favourite fellows. They are equally hot which is why they’re so good together on screen and in fic’).  
Summary: One out of every twenty strangers you meet is a psychopath.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.

C—B—I

Lisbon tossed a file folder to each of her team members. “New case.”

Cho flipped it open to the first page and skimmed through it. “One missing girl?”

From a comfortable spot on the couch Jane said. “Wait for it.”

Lisbon glared at Jane but said to Cho. “Bertram wants us in on this one. The family’s rich, local and makes large yearly donations to CBI’s non-profit “Families Helping Families Foundation”.”

“See?” Jane said flipping through the few pages of the information presented. He added “Bertram’s got her by her cute little ba-utton-ears.”

Lisbon turned away. “Let’s go, and somebody throw a muzzle on the Jane.”

C—B—I

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to your daughter, Mrs Taylor?” Lisbon asked.

Seated opposite her in a padded rocking chair surrounded by the frills and ginger-breading of a charming rural Victorian-style home, Mrs. Lena Taylor dabbed at her eyes with a sodden tissue. “The morning before yesterday - Tuesday. Most days Tigh leaves for work around seven - it was usual for me, or sometimes Tigh, to wait for our home-maker-nanny. We never leave our kids home alone for a moment. Ginny arrived at ten-fifteen, then I k-kissed them goodbye and went to work. I work part time. I teach fourth grade at the Grimmly Road Academy.”

Lisbon nodded. Grimmly was a private and pricy local grade school. “You noticed nothing unusual in the neighbourhood, no unusual cars or people - there was no change in your routine?”

“No, nothing strange. I home-school them in the mornings and then they go to Grimmly from eleven to three-thirty. Ginny drops them off and picks them up. Both my son and daughter have been suffering from colds, so their schooling’s been erratic this week, but Ginny is here all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she might have seen something. I don’t know.”

Lisbon tried to sort through the mother’s confusing details as to their schedules. “We will need the name and address of the nanny.” Lisbon looked around. “So only the nanny was here Tuesday?”

The red-eyed mother nodded sadly. “Yes. Oh, God why did this happen?”

Lisbon decided to leave answering that question up to the One to whom it was put. “Where is your son now?”

“Playing in his room.” Tigh Taylor said. “We thought best to keep him out of this, he adores Abbey so much.” They were practically his first words since the interview began. He sat beside his distraught wife, holding her hand, his eyes on Lisbon.

Tigh Taylor looked from Lisbon - on the couch - to Jane - wandering the living room - and back again. “Can you tell us...with cases like these, I mean – we have hope, right? It’s not been two days yet, so there’s reason to hope?”

Lisbon nodded reassuringly. “Of course there is, and we will do everything we ca –“

“There’s hope, but why torture yourself?” Jane asked suddenly, halting Lisbon’s platitudes and causing all eyes in the room to stare at him in quiet shock, including Lisbon’s.

The mother sputtered slightly, and then drew her shoulders straight. “What do you mean, saying that?”

“I mean why torment yourselves with hope? It’s essentially a useless emotion.”

Lisbon could see the storm gathering in the parent’s reactions and the mule-headedness building behind Jane’s eyes. She put a hand on the mother’s forearm. “I apologise for my colleague, he – “

But Jane was having none of it. “I mean if you hope and your child is found, then she was clearly going to be found anyway, and by the same token if you hope and she is not found, then it was a waste of energy. Anger is more useful, it makes you stronger, it makes you want to fight for every-“

“Shut up Jane.” Lisbon ordered and Jane closed his mouth, surprised he had been barked at in front of the family. It was not unlike Lisbon to shut him down so publically and with such force but usually she wasn’t so rude about it. “I’m only saying.”

Jane abandoned his questions and his casual circumnavigation of the room and its contents. Instead he went to stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, pointedly not looking anymore at Lisbon.

In a hushed voice “I’m sorry.” Lisbon said to the grieving parents and then used an old stand-by phrase that often soothed the egos that Jane so often bruised. “Mister Jane is a bit unorthodox in his opinions but he is one of our best investigators.” Thus restored, the parents calmed somewhat. “And”, Lisbon added, “We’ll need to speak to your son.”

As soon as Jane heard the words, he was up the stairs, not waiting for Lisbon or for the parent’s say-so. Lisbon smiled a little stiffly. “Excuse me.” She joined Jane on the second floor who was already knocking on a door. It was decorated with pictures of airplanes, guns and a G.I Joe movie poster. There were three stairs leading up to it. This room had clearly once been the loft, now converted to a boy’s bedroom.

“Bentley?” Jane called through the painted wood. Out of the corner of his mouth he said to Lisbon. “Who names a kid after a car?”

“An expensive car.” She shrugged. “Family name maybe?” She badly wanted to sound him out on his previous verbal diarrhoea but decided to save it for a more private venue.

The door opened and a boy of twelve years with fair hair stepped back to let them in. The bedroom was roomy and furnished with a double bed, dressers and a large, cedar chest toy box. Video games littered the desk and the floor, and several model airplanes hung suspended from the ceiling on fishing line. Bentley currently had his attention on his PS3 flat-screen. His fatigue-outfitted game character was shooting two-headed zombies with a bow and arrow.

Jane looked around, and then asked the boy. “Good game?”

“I guess.”

“Does Abbey play in here, too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a girl. She likes girl stuff.”

Lisbon said. “Bentley, we need to ask you a few questions about the day Abbey disappeared.”

“Sure.”

“Like when was the last time you saw her?” Jane took up Lisbon’s question, adding his own brand of info-gathering. “And I don’t mean the last day, I mean the last hour, the last minute?” Jane asked, watching the boy, and waiting.

Bentley turned his head to look up at him. “Tuesday. We were both home with colds and Abbey went outside to play.”

Lisbon asked. “What time was that?”

Bentley thought about it for a few seconds. “Just after lunch.”

A man who liked his details, Jane prompted “So, twelve-thirty, one, one thirty?”

“Around one.”

Jane nodded. “After the mom leaves for work.” He said to Lisbon, aware that she already knew that.

Lisbon said to Bentley. “Did you see Abbey leave the house, or anyone outside in the yard or on the driveway?”

“No.” He looked at her with a child’s innocent round eyes with irises as blue as Jane’s. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. It’s not your fault. Thank you Bentley, we’ll leave you alone now. You can get back to your game.”

CBI

“What the hell was that back there?” Lisbon demanded. In the car with the engine running, now was as good a venue as any to call Jane on his callousness. “You of all people should understand the kind of pain those parents must be in.”

“I understand. I was just being honest.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I wish someone had been as forthright with me when -“ Jane stopped, avoiding her gaze. “Let’s just say it would have saved me a lot of useless -”

“Useless what?”

“Never mind.”

Lisbon wanted to shake it out of him but Jane was closed mouthed when it came to the details of his days after the loss of his family, not that it was any of her business. But his troubled memories were almost always there in his eyes for anyone to see if they looked long enough, and when the case involved a missing or murdered child, the pain was unmistakable, you couldn’t miss it. “Well, be that as it may, what you said was cruel. How about trying honesty mixed with tact once in a while? It may get us further with the parents.”

“Tact has its place, just not back there.”

“What’s wrong with you? If not to a grieving parent, then who?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, we’ll find the daughter one way or another, dead or alive, but every parent should prepare themselves for the worst. Hope is a wishy-washy emotion at best and usually a disappointment in itself.”

“I agree, sort of, but offending them doesn’t help.”

“Their daughter has been taken from them, Lisbon, trust me when I say it – right now nothing helps. Nothing.”

After a moments silence, Jane asked. “I assume you are going to check into the parent’s pasts? You don’t like assuming they’re guilty but I hope you’re not assuming they’re innocent either.”

“You assume correctly.”

“Statistically, eighty percent of the time, it’s one or the other parent who abducts or murders their own child.”

“So I’ve read. You think it’s one of the parents?” Lisbon asked, then added “How about we try to rule them out - or in - first before we make an arrest? That okay with you? You know, we could check alibis and such, do some proper procedural police work.”

“Proper, procedural, and slow.”

“Slow gets the job done.” Lisbon steered the car down the Taylor’s quarter-mile driveway.

“Not in a horse race.” He said, then added when he saw her face transforming from mildly irritated to Jane-level-angry, “But in this case I suppose it’ll have to do. Stop the car.”

“Why?”

Jane sighed. “Must you question every request of mine? I want to look at something.”

Lisbon slowed down but did not stop. “At what?” Lisbon asked.

Jane shrugged one shoulder. It was a sign he was about to lie to her. “I feel like taking a walk.”

Lisbon grew suspicious. “Where? You know what? – never mind.” She stepped on the gas again.

Jane unbuckled his seat belt. “Lisbon, do I have to spell it out? I need to go.”

Lisbon slowed the car again. “You mean go go?”

“Yes. I didn’t think it was appropriate at the Taylor’s being that their child is missing and all, and that they already don’t like me, but I’m sure these trees don’t hate me yet.”

Lisbon stopped the car, leaning over to the passenger side to make sure he heard her warning as he got out. “You have two minutes and then I’m driving away.”

“Fine, fine. What a grouch.”

Lisbon did not take the insult seriously. Jane’s erratic behaviour made people grouchy, it was a standard side-effect of the man’s over-all package, and one Lisbon had found impossible to ignore or, most days, control.

 

Once Jane felt he was hidden enough from his boss’s keen observation, he had a quick look around. The local PD had combed through the area for two days since the girl’s disappearance and Jane expected to find no tangible clues they had overlooked, but it never hurt to satisfy oneself.

He kicked at the fallen leaves of late September, for a moment idly indulging the feel and sound of their multi-golden coloured crunch beneath his shoes. Birds twittered and sang and the air had that fresh, crisp smell of the great outdoors.

Jane closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of it. He spent far too many hours indoors, smelling the articles of the man-made world; paper pulp, ink, wood polish and floor cleaner.

When he opened his eyes he saw a bird. This bird was not singing. Jane reached up and plucked it from the low crotch of a tree. Nearby a small stump of wood lay and on it sat a squirrel, shaking its tail furiously at him, perturbed over this stranger interrupting his food gathering.

There was blood on the tiny sparrow’s breast and Jane wrapped the dead bird in a wrinkled tissue, thrusting it into his suit pocket. As much as he would like to stay a few more minutes, for the clean air if not for the sake of the case, he turned and hurried back to the car. Lisbon would already be near the whistle-point of steaming. Best not to push it.

C—B—I

 

Van Pelt came up with their first dirt on the parents or more specifically, the father. She handed Lisbon her findings. “The dad may be a respected electronics guy now but he didn’t start out that way.” Van Pelt explained to the group. “I did a criminal check on him and he has a record from fifteen years back. It was closed because he was a teenager at the time but someone down at juvi’ owed me a favour.”

Lisbon read the pertinent information. “He raped a minor?”

Van Pelt nodded. “He was under-age himself at the time, just seventeen but the girl was fourteen. It went to court but there was only her testimony – no physical evidence, but to finish it he pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of assault - did two years probation.”

“So maybe he doesn’t win Citizen of the Year but that hardly makes him a murderer.” Jane commented.

“But it does make him a liar.” Lisbon countered.

Jane frowned. “How so?”

“By omission.” She said. “He should have known we’d be checking into everything.”

Jane shook his head. “He’s not a cop and he was seventeen at the time. Old news.”

Lisbon knew it was slim at best but it did give them a place to start looking. “Old but relevant. Past behaviour often predicts current state of mind. You’ve said so yourself, Jane, people can’t change.”

“I said people rarely change but they certainly can change.” He argued. “The dad didn’t do it.”

Lisbon didn’t agree. “Well with the dad at the interview, I saw dry eyes. He didn’t seem very broken up about his little girl’s abduction.”

Jane refused to let it go. “Eh - he was trying to be strong for his wife. If memory serves she was still alive and very broken up.”

Lisbon was just as stubborn. “Or either one of them or both is a good actor.” She thrust the print-out back at Van Pelt. “You and Rigsby, go back and talk to the father again, and get personal. Cho, you and I are going to talk to the nanny.”

Without being invited along, Jane fell in behind Cho and Lisbon. “Keep it civil this time, Jane, or you’ll be waiting in the car.” She said, throwing him a look of warning.

Jane raised his hands in a gesture to mean he had no intentions of causing an upset. They piled into the SUV. “But you must admit my methods get at the truth.”

Lisbon had to concede that single point. “Sure, but we would still get there eventually. And by the way your methods bring us harassment suits on a regular basis.”

“All of which have so far been thrown of court. I can’t help it if people are frivolous with the truth.”

“Sometimes you are such a snob, Jane.” Lisbon said, tired of the whole conversation.

“A snob? A snob? I am not a snob. I’m no different than you. I simply possess confidence in my abilities to achieve what I set out to do just as you made special Agent in Charge by your obsessive compulsive drive to excel at everything since you were two years old - and have trust issues, not to mention that short fuse of yours.”

“I am not short fused. I have a perfectly normal fuse. It only gets lit when I’m pushed to the limit by you. Why would you say that I have trust issues? For god’s sake I work with you! If I have any issue with trust, you’re the issue.” Lisbon clamped her mouth closed when she realised she had gotten loud.

Cho had his nose stuck in a book, trying and finally failing to ignore them both. He gave up and sighed heavily. “My turn - you are good at what you do, Jane.” Among other things.

“Thank you.”

“But Lisbon’s right, you’re a snob.”

Lisbon hit the steering wheel with her hand, finally scoring one over on Jane. “Thank you, Cho.”

“And Jane’s right, Lisbon, you are a bit obsessive compulsive and have difficulty trusting people, most notable Jane but he hasn’t earned it yet. I, on the other hand am an objective observer who does his job well and doesn’t gossip. In fact I’m a poker-faced mystery whom neither of you get. Now can we talk about the case or should we discuss Rigsby too?”

Lisbon swallowed the retort on her tongue. “Yes, a little girl is missing. Let’s discuss that.”

“It could be the nanny.” Jane said from the back seat.

Lisbon tried to stifle her gut reaction which was to challenge Jane to prove it right then, right on the spot. “I thought you thought it was the parents? Or, right, I forgot, you think the dad didn’t do it. Now it’s the nanny?”

“I said could be. I’ll know once I talk to her.”

Lisbon bit her lip once more, almost drawing blood. Jane seemed on edge and defensive and though she knew part of that was her fault for egging him on, she also knew it was the case itself. Jane got defensive and bitter whenever a case was about a missing or dead girl. He just couldn’t help himself. When he looked into a dead girl’s eyes, he saw his daughter. Lisbon knew she had to take that into consideration each time a case like this came along and each time one did, she and Jane went at it. She couldn’t help herself either. His methods, though usually achieving results, were sometimes so bizarre he drove her up the proverbial wall.

As she so often did, Lisbon also feared for Jane’s emotions, even his sanity, when the victim was a kid. The arguing was a safety valve and though she hated all the verbal sparring, by keeping it angry, and allowing Jane to spew back, his mind would be more on the case and less on the victim in the case. It was a shaky co-dependence they had going but thus far it worked. During the heart-wrenching cases, a good screaming match kept both of them on top and in control.

C—B—I

“Cho, wait in the car for word from Van Pelt or Rigsby. Call me if they find out anything more from Mister Taylor, but only if it’s something new.” Lisbon instructed. She and Jane entered the small walk-up, knocking on the door of apartment Five.

Once Ginny the nanny had invited them in, Jane and Lisbon were invited to sit in wooden chairs with wearing white paint. The floor linoleum was cracked and yellowed. Ginny served them coffee and tea in mismatched cup-ware. The coffee was weak and the tea so bitter as to be almost undrinkable. Out of courtesy Jane took one courageous sip and then silently denounced it, but it was clear Ginny Roberto lived fairly close to the edge.

“May I use the bathroom?” Jane asked, abandoning his tea cup and waving a polite hand in negation to any more.

Ginny Roberto, a petite dark haired woman nodded, pointing down the hall. “It’s there.”

Lisbon smiled politely and they waited, Lisbon wondering what the hell had gone wrong with Jane’s bladder.

Once Jane was finished, and upon Lisbon questioning the nanny as to the events of the day, Ginny insisted – “No. Only the mail truck came by - always at about eleven or twelve o’clock. There was no one else.” She was seated at a small round kitchen table in a dismal two bedroom apartment. She appeared to be about forty years old. Two teenage children sat in the living room, watching television. There was no husband or boyfriend at home and no pictures of any.

Jane made these and other silent observations while Lisbon sat drinking black coffee from a chipped Corning-ware cup. She asked. “So, Ginny – Roberto is it? - How did Abbey manage to slip out? Misses Taylor said on the days you work for them you arrive at ten-fifteen in the morning?”

“Yes.” Ginny stared back at Lisbon with wide, unblinking green eyes. Lisbon found it rather disconcerting. “Same as usual.”

“And Misses Taylor leaves at eleven thirty or so, and after that you drop the kids off at school, is that correct?”

“Absolutely. Misses Taylor never likes to leave the children alone for a minute. There are always reports in the paper about kids going missing and being kidnapped by a crazy ex-husband or boyfriend. Plus the school is sponsoring a children’s fair.”

 

Jane’s ears were burning. “You think that might have something to do with the crime?”

“Oh, yes, those circus people are lunatics and thieves you know. One of them might have taken her.”

Lisbon enjoyed watching Jane’s face flush pink. “Yes sometimes they are,” She said “but last Tuesday things were different than usual. The kids were sick?”

“Yes, both had bad colds and Abbey was especially bad, coughing a lot and being, well, very whiney about it.” Ginny reported with some embarrassment. “I didn’t tell Misses Taylor about that because Abbey always denies she did anything and parents like to think that – well, you know how it is, it’s hard for a mother to believe her child might be lying.”

“Abbey liked to make a fuss?” Jane asked. “She liked being the center of attention, liked to be coddled - isn’t that annoying?”

Ginny looked up at him with some surprise. “Well, yes, sometimes, but all in all she is a good girl. Does very well in school.”

“Yet taking care of her is a trial, isn’t it?” Jane added. “I mean, I understand, kids mostly drive me nuts.”

Lisbon frowned at the bare-faced lie, but did not interrupt.

“It must have been nice to leave at the end of your shift.” Jane reasoned to Ginny. “Go elsewhere?”

Ginny swallowed audibly. “Well, of course, going home is nice, too.”

Lisbon looked up at Jane too, wondering where he was going with it. She decided to follow his lead in it. He was the mentalist after all, hired for his ability to read people like open books. “Is there something more you’d like to say Misses Roberto? Anything that might help us on this case? We promise not to let it get back to the Taylor’s. We’d respect your privacy.”

“Sure.” Jane said, sounding at least in-the-ballpark sincere. Enough that it slipped past Ginny Roberto. “Your business is your business.”

“Well, I do have a second job.” She ventured quietly. “I waitress in a bar four evenings a week - I have to. I can’t make ends meet without it.”

Lisbon asked. “Why would you feel the need to keep that from anyone?”

“Because if Misses Taylor found out, she’d fire me. She hates to think that anything else might detract me from concentrating on her children. She thinks an evening job, especially a job in a bar, would be unseemly, and it might divide my attention too much, but the world can’t revolve around just her kids. I have kids too,” Ginny thrust her hand toward the pile of mail on the kitchen counter. “And bills.”

Lisbon offered a sympathetic nod. “We understand. We won’t mention it to Misses Taylor unless we have no choice but right now I don’t see how it would pertain to the case.”

Jane did a little throat clearing. “You must be very tired at the end of the day, what with the kids, a second job and all the crazy circus people running around-“

“Jane – “ Lisbon said.

Jane ignored her. “Especially on your days off from your second job when you’re at the Taylors all day, am I right?”

Ginny nodded. Now she looked scared.

“And then having to get up early the next morning too to go to your day job at the Taylor’s – you must get exhausted. Tired enough to slip in a nap once misses Taylor leaves for work, is that right?” At the nanny’s hesitation, Jane urged “Come on, you can tell us, napping isn’t a crime.”

Ginny covered her mouth with her hand and tears began to fall. “Just for an hour or so and not every day. And it doesn’t matter when the kids are at school, it’s just that...”

Jane nodded, looking out the kitchen window to the rain-wet street below. “It’s just on this particular Tuesday you decided to take a nap. The kids had eaten lunch, they were playing quietly. Mom and Dad were gone but the house was locked up - what could it hurt?”

Ginny nodded, crying more. “Yes. Yes, I was so tired from the night before. It’s so hard to make enough for my own kids, especially when -” she stopped short, deciding she had said enough.

Jane finished it for her. “When your bosses, Mister and Misses Taylor, are so demanding and perhaps even cheap. They probably don’t give you a Christmas bonus or anything, do they?”

Ginny shook her head and wiped at her eyes with a dish towel. “No, never.”

Seeing their witness break down after only a few minutes into the interview made Lisbon glad that Jane worked on the side of the CBI. “So you took a nap and that’s when Abbey went missing?”

Ginny cried anew. “Yes, yes, oh God, what will happen to me now? The Taylor’s will fire me for sure. I’ll lose my job.”

Jane waved his fingers back and forth as though to an annoying fly. “It wasn’t much of a job anyway, Ginny, was it? Take it from me, there are better jobs out there” He glanced at Lisbon. “And better bosses.”

Lisbon asked. “Did you see or hear anything prior to Abbey going missing – I mean before your nap? Was there a phone call?”

“No, nothing, just the mail truck, like I said.”

“The mail truck always comes between eleven or twelve?” Jane asked.

“Most days, sometimes he comes after his lunch, some days before his lunch.”

“How did you know what time the mail truck came last Tuesday – did you see it?” Jane asked.

She thought. “Well, no, but the mail was here. Bentley ran out to get it.”

Lisbon asked “So he saw the mail truck?”

Ginny now looked confused. “Bentley said he saw the truck pull away and went to get the mail. He brought it in about twelve-fifteen, just before they ate their sandwiches.”

To make it certain “So you never actually saw the truck yourself, and Bentley only said he saw it?” Jane asked.

“I guess that’s true.”

Jane shook his head. “No, no, don’t guess. It’s either true or it’s not - which is it?”

“Bentley said he saw it.” Ginny admitted.

Lisbon nodded, saying to Jane. “We’ll check into the mail delivery trucks and who was working this area that day.”

Jane nodded once. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, we circus people get some pretty crazy ideas.”

Lisbon stood to leave, smiling kindly at Ginny whose eyes were now dry and watching Jane with wary surprise. “Thank you, Misses Roberto. If we have any more questions, we’ll call you.”

Jane paused at the kitchen door. “Oh, just one more thing – have you found any dead birds lately, on the Taylor’s property?” Jane flicked at nervous look at Lisbon. He knew the limits of her patience and this would probably broach it. “You know, lying around on the edge of the lawn, o-or near the trees?” A tiny smile. “Out in the woods? I know - it’s insane but just answer me anyway.”

Ginny stared for a few seconds. “No, no, no dead birds. Is there some sort of disease going around?”

Jane shrugged. “Probably, though I’m sure it’s nothing. Also, I hear Grimmly school is looking for lunch-time student monitors. Three hours a day and it probably pays close to double what the Taylor’s were paying you, so you’d only need to work half the hours. I’d apply before it gets back to the Taylor’s that you were sleeping on the job. The dog-faced boy sends his regards by the way. Bye now.”

In the car, Lisbon asked. “How do you know the school is hiring? You’ve never been there.”

“Snooty private schools are always looking for daytime monitors, there’s a high turnover of staff for lunch room work.”

“Oh really? And how in the world would you know anything about school? You’ve never been to school.”

“I’m an investigator, it’s my job to know - plus I called them.”

“When?”

“From the bathroom. I suspected Ginny was neglecting her duties at the Taylors, ergo she would soon need another job.”

Lisbon flashed him a shit-eating grin. “You’re a softy for a sob story, Jane.”

Deeply insulted “I am not a softy. Actually I should just call them back and warn them about her. “Lunatics and thieves indeed”.”

“She’s harmless. And yes you are one, Jane, you’re a softy. You knew she would probably lose her job and you wanted to save her. You’re a big, mushy man. You’re the Mush-man.”

“I resent that, Lisbon. What I am is a steely-eyed consultant with a heart of stone.” He pointed to his chest. “Don’t believe me? Just feel that – no mush at all – cold, hard stone.”

Lisbon sat back and enjoyed the drive. “Mush, Jane. Mush, mush, mush.”

“Hard, bone-breaking stone, and quit it or stop the car because I’m walking back.”

“Hah! Sure.” She said, and then whispered “Mush-sh-sh-sh-sh.”

 

C—B—I

Cho stuck his head in Lisbon’s office. It was late, they were all tired but there was still a few things left on the agenda. “Boss, we brought the father in for questioning.”

“He’s not cooperating?”

“He’s sort of cooperating. Something’s got him spooked and he’ll only talk to you.”

Lisbon sighed. “Fine, put him in room number Two, I’ll be there in a minute and Cho - send Jane in here.”

Cho roused a soundly sleeping Jane with a backhanded tap on his arm. “Hey, Lisbon wants you.”

Jane groaned and sat up. “That woman will be the death of me. I got almost no sleep last night.”

“Why not?”

Jane looked up at his colleague, his mouth hung open for a second, and then he closed it just as quickly. “Ah, no reason.”

With some disdain Cho watched Jane disappear inside Lisbon’s office. After their one, almost two, nights together Jane had already crawled back to his shell and as far as Cho could see, it was doing him no good what-so-ever. When it came to keeping his own counsel, the blonde was immovable.

CBI

The moment Jane entered her office Lisbon stood, thrusting a form under his nose, waving it around. “What’s this?”

“Um, looks like Foolscap paper – legal weight if I’m not mistaken.”

“No.” She stood to face him. He may have had the advantage on height but being his boss, and the woman who could get him fired, in every other case she had the upper-hand. “No-o-o. It’s a request from you to the Medical Examiner to perform a necropsy on a sparrow.”

Jane looked down at the form. “Didn’t I fill it out correctly?” He tried to snatch it back. “Here, let me fix it.”

Lisbon was too quick for him. “You are a consultant and as such have no authority to make such requests except through this department which means through me. And, even more poignant than that, is why? Why? That is a question I am forced to ask you over and over on every case, every day.” She spread her hands as though in surrender. In her clenched fist the form was rapidly turning from a single smooth piece of paper into a wrinkled, sweaty ball. “I understand. This is my fate, the gods have spoken. I have come to accept it but in this case, approving this would make me and you and this whole department – and Bertram - look like a bunch of jackasses. So again I ask - Why do you want this?”

Jane was whimsical. “Why does anyone do anything?” He quipped, and then added “Look – I wanted to know how it died.”

Lisbon sat down again in her chair, putting the desk between her and her slightly demented employee. “That doesn’t answer my question and I know by now that whenever you don’t answer directly, it means you’re lying. And you know what? Lying will get you nothing.”

Jane sat down finally and crossed his legs. “I have a theory and I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure it wasn’t nothing.”

Lisbon nodded. A tiny drop of truth at last. “So not nothing. Therefore something?”

Jane almost nodded back, then furled his eyebrows. “Mmm, more a possible something but unable to prove that something until I have a something that’s more than the nothing I currently possess. Therefore the required necropsy.”

“You’re trying to say that knowing what killed this sparrow will lead you to the murderer?”

“Possibly.” Jane said. “Maybe. Okay - I don’t know for sure, but I really need to know to satisfy myself that it’s not – or is - something. Please? It’s not like this is the weirdest thing I’ve asked you for.”

“Actually, yes it is. Request denied.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to keep my job, that’s why. Prove what-ever it is you need to prove or disprove some other way. A way that does not involve all of us getting canned.”

CBI

Cho sat back down at his desk grumbling loudly enough for Rigsby to overhear. “Jane trouble?”

“Always.”

“Wanna’ know what I’d do about it?”

Cho didn’t care for any advice on his love-life. “Not remotely.”

Rigsby ignored the not-so-subtle hint. “You want romance? Just play it cool, and he’ll come around.”

Cho turned around. “Play it cool? You pined after Grace for a year. Your brand of cool would chill a polar-bear.”

“I’m telling you, come on too strongly and you’ll scare him away. Jane’s...well, the nervous type – he’ll run.”

“You think going “Fonzi” will work on Jane? The man knew you and Grace were an item before you did.”

Rigsby flicked his pencil at Cho’s head, and missed. “At least we got to first base fabulous love before circumstances derailed it.”

Cho kept his back to Rigsby, trying to drive the hint home a little more forcefully. “What circumstances? She dumped you. Besides, what makes you think Jane and I didn’t get to first base?”

Cho knew he scored a hit when Rigsby sucked in a quick breath. Cho could feel Rigsby’s beet-red blush from where he sat.

“R-really?” There was a harsh clearing of throat on Rigsby’s part before - “I, I didn’t know that.” And after a few seconds. “But, still, I can tell you two are on the off part of your on-again, off-again thing.”

Cho was tiring of his partner’s curiosity. “Is that right?”

“Yes, because Jane is still wearing his wedding ring.”

“Jane never takes off his wedding ring, Rigsby. As for his wife being dead, I think he got the memo, but Jane’s old-fashioned - he still feels married.”

Rigsby tossed his pen from one hand to the other. “So what are you going to do?”

Cho turned and stood, knowing Lisbon would want him with her in the interrogation room momentarily. Rigsby was his partner and friend but sometimes he didn’t know when to keep his trap shut. “For now I’m going to mind my own business.”

Lisbon’s approach forestalled anymore discussion. “Come on, Taylor’s waiting. Let’s see if we can shake him loose.”

“Don’t you want Jane in on the interview?”

“No. He’s sulking.”

Cho made a mental note to seek him out once the interview was over. Sulking could mean any number of things, most of which were probably unhealthy choices, if he knew his Jane at all.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this, Mister Taylor? Attempted rape of a minor is a serious charge.”

Tigh Taylor was sweating and pale, his normally upswept hair was sticking to his forehead. “Because it was sealed, at least it was supposed to be. Plus I was seventeen at the time. I pleaded guilty to assault and was given probation. I mean I didn’t think I needed to tell anyone. It’s my business.”

Lisbon clasped her fingers together on the table. “We’re just trying to understand, Mister Taylor. Your daughter goes missing and here we find you have a history of harming young girls. What did you expect us to think?”

“I don’t have a “history” as you put it. It was one incident over ten years ago and don’t you dare accuse me of hurting my little girl. I love Abbey. She’s my angel.”

“Then explain it to us. Why didn’t you disclose it to us? You knew it would bring you under suspicion and hiding it just makes you look even more guilty.”

“Because my boss is a very religious man and if he found out I have a juvi’ record, he’d fire me. You know how hard it is to land a good job right now?”

Cho asked. “How would your boss find out if the record was closed?”

“You found out, didn’t you? I had to protect my family’s income. Lena only works part-time and we were going to let Ginny go once Abbey started Grade Two. We couldn’t afford a nanny or the school fees for two kids anymore. Lena was going to quit her job and home-school them full time.”

“We understand, Mister Taylor. We’re just trying to understand all the facts.” Lisbon explained. “We know times are tough, but when we tried to corroborate the times you told us that you were at work, we could not contact your boss.”

“That’s because he goes to his mosque every day between ten and two. When he’s gone, I’m there running things alone.” Tigh Taylor looked one to the other agent. “I’ve told you enough. Do you want his home number now? Because screw you! Why don’t you put my tax dollars to work and look it up yourself?”

Cho leaned over the table to remind Tigh Taylor that there were two cops in the room. “Hey, take it easy.”

“Fuck easy! Here you are questioning me and the person who took my daughter is still out here. Why the hell aren’t you out trying to find her?” He shouted, throwing his hand around. “What’s wrong with you people?”

With her own volume Lisbon matched his. “Hey – getting loud. Calm down, Mister Taylor, we are simply exploring all avenues.”

But Tigh Taylor was not about to back off. “My missing Abbey is not an “avenue”, she’s a little girl, probably scared to death and you’re wasting time on me, on some ancient history that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Mister Taylor, suppose it turns out to be a friend or neighbour who took Abbey – would you want us to be nice or overlook a possible suspect just because it wouldn’t be mannerly? We want to find her too.” Lisbon was bone tired now. “Look, you’ve been here for two hours, aren’t you thirsty?” Lisbon called for Van Pelt to bring Tigh Taylor some coffee in the hopes of soothing him.

Outside Interrogation Room Two, Cho asked Lisbon. “What do you think?”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t know. He seems sincere to me. You?”

“Came across as honest enough I guess. Do we hold him?”

Lisbon shook her head. “No. We got nothing to hold him on except some mild suspicion. Let him go.”

Cho made arrangements for Tigh Taylor to be driven home and went to look for Jane. He found him in his attic room, sitting on a chair by the grimy window, looking out over the roof to the street below. The view was minimal and free of greenery so, as far as he could see, nothing in it presented as worthy of such intensity of gaze.

But Jane often saw things others didn’t.

“Hey. You all right?”

Jane didn’t look around. “Sure.”

“I made some tea.”

That perked Jane up just a touch, but it only made it to his eyes. He didn’t move from his spot. “Good. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Not good enough for Cho, and he walked over to stand next to him. With Jane seated, Cho could look down on him, and he could smell his hair. Jane used very little cologne or other scents except the soap he used to shower with and the conditioner he put on his hair. Cho could imagine such curls might get tangled without it. His hair smelled like vanilla, and Cho felt a jolt of arousal just being this close to him.

Out of the blue, Jane asked. “When do you think Lisbon will begin to trust me?”

Cho had no idea how to answer. “She does trust you.” Then he admitted. “Most of the time.” Cho wondered what Jane was getting at. “It’s just that when you lie to her...”

“Sometimes I have to lie or the case can’t be solved. I know she has to do things by the book, but I don’t work my best that way. Subterfuge is what I do.”

Cho almost stopped breathing. He and Jane were having a private, and what could even be called, an intimate moment, and Jane wasn’t deflecting or clamming up or running away. Jane had in fact initiated the conversation himself and was talking freely there-in. It was almost thrilling. “But do you have to do it with her? She might surprise you.”

“Lisbon always surprises me.”

Cho thought he heard the complimentary affection in it. He knew Jane felt at home here, more at home than anywhere since his family was murdered. Cho hoped it would last beyond Red John and Jane’s dangerous obsession with him. Cho hoped for a future for the team which included Jane but mostly he wished for Jane to be in his. “Did something happen?”

Jane stood up from the chair. “Nothing I didn’t expect.” He shrugged into his jacket. “We still have a couple of hours of light left. Come on, let’s get that tea and you can take a drive with me.”

“Where’re we going?” Cho didn’t care. They were going driving, and that meant he would have a few hours alone with Jane. In his book, a perfect evening.

“Bird watching.”

CBI

Jane sat in the passenger seat, sipping from his newly acquired travel mug brimming with sweet tea.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me drive your car.” Cho said, expertly shifting gears to bring the Citron to a halt. The chassis had a loose, tinny feel to it but the standard transmission was fun and Jane must have had the drive-train changed out for something quality because the French lemon hugged the road rather well. “And I can’t believe I agreed.”

“I let you drive my car because you’re an excellent driver, and you agreed because you trust and respect me.”

Cho parked just off the Taylor’s driveway near the expansive woods that ran adjacent to their property, and followed Jane a few hundred yards into the pines. “It’s a bit late for bird watching.” Cho pointed out looking at the sky between the tops of the trees whose branches were blocking out a significant amount of the remaining daylight, draping the woods in the look and feel of late dusk.

“Not our kind of bird watching. Look down.” Jane instructed, pulling two small white kitchen garbage bags from his suit pocket. “And if you see any birds, stuff them in here.”

Cho took the bag. “We’re dead-bird watching?”

“And collecting.”

Cho, to his not totally unexpected surprise, did find several dead sparrows and two crows, all with bloody breasts or sides. One crow had a hole through its throat which had nearly severed the head from its body. “Looks like someone was target practising.”

“Yes.” Jane had collected several more.

Cho tied a knot in the end of his bag. The daylight was now almost gone and it was getting harder to see. “Okay. Thirteen dead birds. Kind of a weird second date - so what now?”

“Now we take another cruise in my car.” Jane said. “To a man who has a particular skill set.”

Cho hoped it was someone who could cook a fine, rare steak but when Jane, back in the driver’s seat, pulled up outside a small sports store in south Sacramento, Cho’s stomach gurgled in protest.

Cho followed Jane inside, deciding to leave any questions for after. It was just simpler.

The place was ten minutes to closing and Jane tapped the bell on the counter. From a curtained-off room at the back and elderly fellow emerged, smoking a pipe. “We’re almost closed.”

Jane smiled. “That’s okay, we’re almost leaving, but first you’re the man whose unique skills brought us here.” Jane looked up at the walls and Cho followed his gaze. They were covered in all manner of stuffed animals and predatory fowl. Cho got his answer. “Taxidermist.” He said.

The old fellow regarded both his visitors with a fine mixture of amusement and ridicule in wrinkled, life-worn eyes. His pipe filled the room with a pleasingly pungent smoke. “What’s ya’ got there? - Dead birds?” The man frowned at Jane’s queer collection of feathered friends. “What’s ya’ want me to do with those?” He asked dubiously. “Fry ‘em up?”

“No.” Jane said, dismissing any mockery from the old man as par for the course, it was something he had encountered for years and often encouraged as it often threw his opponents off balance. It was easier to root out a criminal said criminal mocked one as a fool. Cho recognised this as well and it often worked. People almost always underestimated Jane’s intelligence and his persistence – usually to their detriment.

“I want you to tell me how they died. I need an expert opinion.” Jane explained. “Bullet, arrow and if an arrow, what kind of arrow.”

The store owner puffed on his pipe. “I might do, but not for nothing.”

Jane raised a finger. “Naturally. Cho, how much money do you have on you?”

CBI

Cho grumbled. “A hundred bucks to examine a bunch of dead birds.”

“Trust me, it’s a bargain.” Jane assured him, “and a crucial step in the working out of my theory.”

Cho already knew what Jane was thinking. “You think whoever shot those birds shot Abbey? So you think Abbey is dead?”

Jane bobbed his head back and forth once and twice. “Mmm, not exactly that, not yet, though statistically the longer she is missing the more likely it is that she is dead.”

“If she is, you have an idea who did it?”

“I don’t want to say. I might be wrong.”

“Well at least I’ve lived long enough to hear that.” Cho was sleepy, but he was far more hungry. “Don’t take me home, I want a steak.”

“Might. I said might be wrong. A steak? All that red meat is so bad for you, Cho.”

“Starving is bad, too. Head to Luigi’s, and since your bird-man cleaned me out, you’re buying.”

“Okay.”

CBI

After an excellent meal of steak, salad and beer, Cho was much happier. Even Jane appeared more content that he had earlier that afternoon in the attic. Jane had eaten a Cajun chicken dish over rice and white wine. Cho sat back and relaxed in the booth, not wanting the evening to end yet. “Lisbon does trust you, you know. She wouldn’t have kept you on this long if she didn’t.”

“No she doesn’t. She told me so.”

“Well, she must trust something about you, she’s fought for –“

“Lisbon feels sorry for me, and a little responsible I think.”

“Responsible? In what way?” This wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner conversation he’d had in mind and Cho kicked himself for bringing it up at all.

“For my well being. She pretends she doesn’t pity me, but she does.”

“She cares.”

Jane looked into his wine glass, and nodded once. “That, too.” He looked over at the other tables with the few patrons still nursing drinks or dessert. “She shouldn’t. This job, this whole situation isn’t going to go on forever.”

Cho hated the sound of that. Of course, someday they would all probably move on to other things, other opportunities, promotions, new teams, new jobs, even new lives but that was a long way off. “What are your plans after Red John is dead? Do you have any? Have you even thought about it?”

Jane did not meet Cho eye to eye. “Hadn’t considered it at all. I just assume I won’t survive the encounter, which doesn’t matter so long as Red John is dead too.”

Cho had heard as much before, and each time it made his blood simultaneously boil and freeze over. “Pretty selfish attitude, Jane. There are people who care about you, you know, people who would miss you.” Like me for starters.

“Small change if I succeed in killing Red John.”

“Small change?” That floored him. “We’re all just small change to you, Jane? If that’s really true, then I guess everything is.” Cho pulled his wallet from his back pocket and dug out his last twenty for the waiter’s tip, tossing it on the table. Then he stood and grabbed his suit jacket and walked away, leaving Jane sitting alone.

Jane watched his friend walk out on him, and then remembered they had brought his car to the restaurant. He swallowed the last of his wine and followed, hurrying to catch up before Cho drove away in an angry rage and maybe wrap his Citron around a telephone pole.

“Cho.” Jane caught him before Cho had the chance to hail a taxi. “Come on.” He tried to herd Cho back to his car without looking like he was trying to herd him. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Come on, you’re out of money anyway, get in and I’ll drive you home.”

Cho, angrier than he thought, pushed Jane hard, sending him sprawling against the car and feeling an evil thrill as the casual assurance in Jane’s eyes turned to shock at the physically rough contact. Cho’s physical outburst had brought him a satisfying sense of power over Jane’s dismissal of his feelings for him, but he also immediately felt guilty at the sudden small fear in Jane’s look, his eyes darting everywhere but at Cho, instinctively looking for an escape.

Jane did not do well with violence, something Cho knew all too well and should have remembered. Jane’s was not the soul of a cop to face danger at every turn and competently defend himself with fists or weapons when called for. Jane hated guns and force and the blood and bruises that came with them. But he hated bloody crime scenes most of all. Many times Cho had watched Jane at a scene of death, forcing himself to look at the bodies with the missing eyes or the many stab wounds in order to gather those necessary pictures in his mind to analyse later, but it was obvious to anyone that they disturbed and affected him deeply. After three or more years at the CBI, Jane had not gotten used to seeing the violence one human being can do to another.

“I’m sorry.” Cho said releasing Jane’s arms and taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jane straightened his jacket, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. “S’okay. Doesn’t matter.”

Cho stepped closer again. “Yes, it does matter. Did I hurt you?”

Shaking his head “No.” Jane made a slow production of digging out his keys in order to avoid looking at Cho. “Come on, I’ll drive you h-home.”

Cho’s stomach twisted at the hitch in Jane’s voice and the wary averting of his eyes. Maybe Cho hadn’t hurt him in the physical sense but he had hurt him none-the-less.

After a silent ride, when Cho climbed out of the car, Jane followed him, but only as far as leaning against his side of the Citron. He wanted to talk, and Cho forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Another apology was pointless as Jane would either forgive him or not, although Cho knew Jane was all around a pretty forgiving guy.

Jane studied his shoes. “I didn’t mean – you’re not “small change”, that’s not what I meant.”

Cho felt better already. “Then what?”

“Not until he’s dead, Cho. You asked me about my future after Red John is dead and the answer is there isn’t one - until he’s dead. I can’t...I can’t make plans, I can’t hope or promise until he’s gone from my life.” Jane looked directly at him. “And gone from the world, and in case you didn’t notice, that’s not by choice.”

Of course he knew that. But Cho wanted to make Patrick see that by allowing Red John to dictate his very life, Jane was already handing Red John the win. Cho swallowed his own fears over it. Fuck Red John!

Cho stepped closer, right up to him, until their shoe tips touched. He wanted Jane and he knew Jane wanted him. “So if we don’t see each other, Red John wins, and if we do see each other and Red John manages to kill me, Red John wins. Either way, he wins. Is that the way you really want it?”

Cho knew he was putting Jane off-balance by being physically so close to him. Jane’s barriers were down; a state Cho loved to see in those rare intimate moments when Jane allowed himself to feel something besides the heavy weight of guilt or the driving lust for revenge. Jane shook his head a little. “No.”

In the dim parking lot Cho’s mouth took pleasure in searching for and finding Jane’s lips. He kissed him softly once, lingering. Then he asked “Why?”

Jane allowed the kiss then got physical himself; pushing Cho away but gently. Matter-of-factly - “Because I don’t want to see you die.”

Maybe it was as close as Jane could presently come to admitting his feelings. Cho chalked it up to the nameless fear of Red John’s uncanny skill at getting to those whom Jane cared about. Cho supposed he couldn’t blame him. Red John possessed an ongoing power over Jane and had done so right from the start. “The problem with that, Patrick, is your willingness to live like this. You’ve chosen a walking death and I’m not sure that’s any better than taking a risk.”

C—B—I

The next morning Cho found Jane making a pot of tea.

“Morning.” The greeting was unaffected by last night’s conversation. Jane sounded normal, even cheerful.

Cho played along, not that he was feeling the need to avoid Jane at all. Not much. “Morning.”

“New tea.” Jane explained as though Cho had never seen him bring in a new brand before. Jane liked tea and often tried new flavours. Coffee made him nauseous. Cho wondered if Jane had some sort of allergy to coffee beans, and made a mental note to ask him sometime.

“Any news?”

“On?”

“The birds.”

Jane nodded. “Oh, right. No, but I’m sure I’ll hear back today.”

Van pelt gathered their attention the moment they entered the office. “I’ve already told Lisbon but last night I ran a check into crimes in a fifty mile radius around the Taylor’s residence. Turns out over two years ago a little girl went missing about ten miles from the Taylor’s home. A body was ever found.”

Lisbon joined them. “Cho, how long did the mail delivery guy say he had worked out of the local post office?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Looks like we need to have another chat with Mister Evanstile, the mail-man.” Lisbon said. “Cho, you and Rigsby bring him in.”

“Will do.” Rigsby drew his gun from his desk drawer and holstered it. “Come on, Cho.”

Lisbon asked Van Pelt. “When did the Taylors say they moved into the area?”

Van Pelt sat at her computer and punched some keys. “About eight months after the first girl went missing. They were bussing their son Bentley to Grimmly before that, but at the time lived over sixty miles away. Misses Taylor said the school had a last minute enrolment cancelation and they wanted their son to have a head start, so he got in.”

Lisbon said. “That’s a long commute for a nine year old.”

“I guess when you want the best for your kid...” Van Pelt reasoned.

Lisbon looked at Jane who had been listening from his sofa but saying nothing. “Jane? Would you like to join the investigation? Any thoughts?”

“When do classes finish at the school?” Jane asked.

Van Pelt checked. “Three-thirty.”

“And when does the bus leave the school and where does it go?” He added.

Lisbon piped in. “Yeah, Jane’s right. Does its route go near Evanstile’s regular mail run?”

Jane said under his breath. “I’m sure it does.”

Van Pelt confirmed Jane’s remark. “Yup. It leaves forty-five minutes after last class and takes Bannerman Lane to secondary highway 212 and into the Taylor’s area. Evanstile’s mail run wraps up usually around five in the afternoon. Do you think it’s the same man, Jane? Evanstile?”

“I don’t know that’s it’s a man.”

Lisbon frowned. “You think a woman did this? Abbey’s mother? Or – what’s the other missing girl’s name?” She asked Van Pelt.

“Patricia Chasewick.”

“Or Patricia’s mother?”

“Mmm, two missing kids, one mail-truck, only whom one child claim to have seen – it’s pretty weak.” Jane said and Lisbon knew it was his indirect way of saying he didn’t want to admit he didn’t know.

Van Pelt printed out the Chasewick’s home phone number and address and handed it to Lisbon. She addressed Jane. “But you think the cases are related? There’s two years between abductions, that’s a bit of a long stretch.”

Jane tilted his head in a non-committal manner. “Not for a fledgling kidnapper.” Jane shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll know more after my phone call.”

“What phone call?”

Right then Jane’s cellular trilled for his attention. “That phone call.” He answered, moving out of their hearing range into the hall, speaking into it for a moment, then returned. “Hmm.” He said mysteriously.

Lisbon faced him, getting annoyed. “Enough with the cloak and dagger, Jane, who was that, and what did you learn?”

“That was a taxidermist who was good enough,” he pointedly stared at her, “to look into - literally - my dead bird.”

Lisbon bristled. “We have to follow protocol where the ME, and everything else, is concerned - sue me. What about your dead bird?”

Jane looked at her, defiant to the last. “I’m not going to tell you, Lisbon. Yet.”

Lisbon sighed. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t trust me. Besides this case is not solved yet – almost – but not quite.”

“Oh?” Lisbon followed Jane into the kitchen where his tea sat steeping in a white ceramic pot. He took down a china cup and saucer from the cupboard and poured. “Tea?”

“No. You know who abducted Abbey and possibly Patricia and you’re not telling me? That’s grounds for discipline.”

“Ah, but then if I’m taken off the case how ultimately will it be solved? Have you thought about that?”

“We solved cases before you came to work here and I’m sure we’ll do fine with this one.”

“Well, then, if you don’t need me, what are worried about?”

Lisbon hated it when Jane got logical. “Jane, if you withhold evidence, I could have you locked up.”

Jane knew it was no idle threat, she’d do it. Lisbon was a petite, attractive, intriguing woman but she could also be the hardest ass around when necessary. “I don’t have hard evidence yet, Lisbon. I have a strong idea and an idea is not evidence, it’s an idea.”

Lisbon threw in the towel, but only temporarily. “Fine, keep it to yourself then.”

“Thank-you, I will.”

“Just promise me you won’t go running into the fire without back-up.”

He held out a second cup to her. “Are you sure you don’t want tea? It’s blackberry.”

She walked away, her stride a little more pronounced, her feet striking the tile a little harder than usual. “No!”

C—B—I

“Did we finally get hold of Taylor’s boss?” Lisbon asked Van Pelt, her reliably early-to-rise-early-to-work employee. Lisbon sucked on an extra large coffee with double sweetener and milk. It had been a late night and an early morning for her too.

“Just calling there again, boss.” Van Pelt picked up the phone and dialled. “And getting just the answering machine again”

Lisbon was tired of Tigh Taylor’s elusive employer. “Okay, screw this. When Cho and Rigsby get in, send them over to Alnoor’s Electronic What-cha-ma-call-it and find the boss, then ask him if Tigh was at work that day. Tigh may not be a suspect but I’m tired of getting nowhere tying up his alibi. And how did they do on the mail guy?”

“Turner Evanstile’s work record showed he worked his route as usual, but the Chadwick’s claim on that Tuesday it wasn’t a mail truck but a car - a tan, four-door sedan with rust on the fenders. Evanstile only owns a blue ’98 Ford pick-up. He’s a contract mail carrier, meaning he uses his own vehicle.”

“Interesting. Who was driving the car I wonder?” Lisbon approached Van Pelt’s desk and looked at her computer screen, but she left Van Pelt to explain what she was reading.

“Well...”

Lisbon loved it when Van Pelt said that word, it meant she had done some thinking and then some research and had come up with a curiosity worth looking into.

“I figured just maybe Evanstile didn’t feel like working that Tuesday? Like maybe he had the twenty-four ounce flu or something and got a buddy to do his round for him. I checked with the other neighbours and some remember seeing a sedan that day, too. So I got the parking lot video for the local P.O., and found this.”

Lisbon watched the screen as Van Pelt ran the footage. A blue Ford truck entered and parked near the service entrance to the back of a sprawling single floor building. The driver of the Ford got out of his truck, pushed a button beside the building’s side door and it was opened for him. He entered and returned a few minutes later with his arms loaded with mail bags. A second vehicle, a tan coloured sedan pulled up and parked beside the truck, whereby the truck driver dumped all the mail bags in its already popped trunk. The drivers of both vehicles talked for a moment and then each drove away.

Van Pelt hit the video’s Pause button. “None of the camera’s caught a plate number, but I figure if we look into Evanstile’s closest friends, one of them probably owns a tan, four-door sedan.”

“So it really was a car, not a truck. The Taylor boy got it wrong and Evanstile is a big, fat liar. We may not have a plate number but we have him clearly handing off US mail to someone who probably carries no authority to touch it and that’s a crime. It’s enough anyway to haul him in for questioning again and find out who this helpful friend is. Good work, Van Pelt.”

CBI

Both Evanstile and Tigh Taylor once again found themselves in the hot seat.

Talking to Taylor first, Lisbon laid it out for him. “Your boss was indeed at his mosque on that Tuesday but you know what, Mister Taylor, we found out you weren’t at the store as you claimed. Mister Alnoor told us that he always gave you an extra long lunch hour on the days he went to mosque. You locked up shop and left the store for nearly two hours that day. You want to tell us where you went?”

Tigh Taylor rubbed his forehead. “I went shooting.”

Lisbon asked “Excuse me? What kind of shooting and where?”

“I target shoot – arrows – long bow; archery. It’s my only hobby. I go to a legitimate indoor arena - it’s all legal, I swear. I’ve been a member there for almost a year.”

“Why did you keep this from us?”

“Because if my boss found out I’d been using those lunch hours to go shooting, even at targets, he’d probably fire me. He loathes violence of any kind and forbids we keep anything to defend ourselves against burglary at the store, not even a baseball bat.”

“I see. How many weapons do you own?”

“One long bow, one crossbow and two for regular archery. I keep them locked up all the time, and the key is hidden in my desk at home. You can check if you want. It’s not against the law.”

“No, it isn’t.” Cho confirmed for Lisbon, but then reminded Mister Taylor “Unless you’re hunting in a non-primitive weapons season.”

“No. I never hunt. Only targets. Lena loves animals.”

Lisbon was disappointed that Tigh had an explanation for everything, but it was best to be sure. “Cho, have Van Pelt check into this archery club. “ To Tigh “If your alibi checks out, you can go, but no more lying. You want us to find your daughter, that’s the price.”

Tigh Taylor nodded and sat back in his chair to wait out the time.

CBI

“Lisbon.” This time it was Rigsby, interview with Evanstile completed, who knocked on her office door. “Evanstile came through. He even showed us the four-door sedan. His friend parks it behind his garage and covers it with a tarp.”

“That friend have a name?”

“Harrison Lavalee.”

Lisbon was cautiously pleased. “And Evanstile didn’t try to hide it?”

Rigsby shook his head.

She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Okay. Go get him.” All of their suspects were being cleared one-by-one. “And take Cho with you.”

“Cho, come on, we’re picking up Lavalee.”

Cho abandoned his paperwork and grabbed his jacket and weapon. On the way downstairs, they ran into Jane, who had gone out for snacks. He showed them his bag of goodies. “Hey, where’s everybody going? I’ve got real cream pastries.”

Cho answered, trying to keep his mind on the job and not on Jane or the real cream pastries, or Jane and whipped cream. “Sorry, we’ve got to pick up a suspect.”

Jane looked interested. “Oh yeah? Who?”

Rigsby answered while fishing for his keys. “Friend of Evanstile, the guy who actually delivered the mail that day.”

“Really? Hey do me a favour, Cho, and ask him if he delivered mail along the Taylor’s road or not and please call me when you know.”

Cho asked “Why? You think the mailman took her?” It was the first time they’d talked about the case or much of anything else since that morning.

“Eh, mailman shmailman. I’m thinking my first suspicion was right.”

Rigsby nodded to Jane but inside was shaking his head a little at Jane’s always elusive answers to simple questions. Anxious to get going - “Sure, Jane.” Then he said to Cho “Hey, let me do the talking this time.”

Cho wanted to dig more deeply into Jane’s cryptic comment but there was a job to do. “You? I’m the tough guy in this combo. When it’s bad cop, good cop time, I’m the bad cop, Rigsby, we agreed.”

“I need to practise my tough-guy act.” They started down the stairs and Jane followed, licking icing off his cherry Danish as he went.

Through a mouth full of sweet goo, Jane said “Good idea, Rigsby, you need the practise.”

Rigsby gave him a double-take. “Hey, I do all right. I was top of my drama class in high school.”

Jane said with stunning confidence. “No, you weren’t.”

Offended - “Yes I was.”

Licking his lips, Jane said “Nope.”

Rigsby hated it when Jane acted like the know-it-all over something of which he could not possibly have any knowledge. “How would you know?”

“I just know. I know things, lots of things and even if I don’t - I know that.”

“Well you’re wrong.”

“No I’m not.” Jane swallowed and gave Rigsby his best insult-delivered-with-a-pleasant-smile. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Rigsby, you are too honest a fellow to have any solid acting skills. But you should be proud of that - being a terrible actor is a sign of good character.”

“I can act circles around you any day Jane. You want to go at it?”

Casually indifferent “No, because I’m already confident that you couldn’t act your way out of a paper bag if you soaked it in gasoline and set it on fire. However with good character you are blessed a dump-truck full.”

Rigsby snatched the bag of pastries out of Jane’s hand, dug around in it and shoved the first thing he found into his mouth. Through the spray of crumbs from the flaky taste treat he held up the bag and announced “Confiscated!”

Jane shrugged, giving up the tasty snacks for other ventures. He turned and climbed back up the stairs and stuck his head into the outer office where Van Pelt was working at her desk. “Hey, Grace.”

“Hey Jane.” She said without turning around.

“Do me a favour and tell Lisbon I’ll meet her at the Taylor’s place this afternoon around five.”

Van Pelt turned around then. “The Taylor’s?” She looked at the clock on the wall. It said ten-thirty-seven. “Lisbon is in with Bertram if you want to tell her yourself. And we already interviewed the father. He’s cleared, and both of them are at her mother’s for the next two days anyway. There’s no one home.”

At the suggestion of popping in on a meeting between Lisbon and Bertram, Jane immediately dismissed the idea with a tiny shake of his head. “Oh, I’m sure they have important things to discuss alone. Lena’s mother’s place you say? - Oh, right! I read the interview with Tigh, shooting at targets and such - interesting hobby. What about their son? Bentley?”

“In school. Right now they’re picking him up and dropping him off. Hey if Lisbon asks, where will you be until -?”

But Jane had already vanished.

CBI

Rigsby manoeuvred the SUV in and around highway traffic to the Lavalee address while throwing glances sideways to Cho that Cho studiously ignored.

Finally his mouth got the better of him. “I don’t get what you see in him.” Rigsby blurted.

Cho answered. “Don’t go there.”

“Telling me I can’t act the tough-guy. You’ve seen me, Cho, right? I’ve done all right so far.”

“Sure, Rig’s. You’re a shoe-in for that Oscar thing.”

Rigsby muttered. “It’s got to be something I’m missing because most of the time he’s a huge pain in the ass.”

Sighing - “Why does it matter?” Cho asked, trying to concentrate on the street signs.

“Because Jane is arrogant and selfish and...and rude.”

“How about you let me worry about Jane and you worry about your thespian pursuits?”

“Come on, Cho, do you really think you can find happiness with Jane? That he would stick over the long haul? I mean, yes, he’s a fine investigator and, yes, he’s intelligent, but he’s, he’s...plus there’s the no dating rule.”

“We’re not dating.”

“But, really, what do you see in him?”

“You mean that I can’t get from you?”

“Stop kidding around. I’m serious”

Cho realised it was going to fester inside Rigsby until he ‘fessed up. “If I tell you will you shut up and drive?”

“Yes.” Rigsby nodded. “Fine. Yes. Good.”

“It’s true he is arrogant and rude, and sometimes he can be selfish. But he’s also smart, driven, funny and, in the affairs of the heart, absolutely loyal. And, in case you were wondering, sexy enough that when I stand next to him I can hardly see straight. In fact, other than the job, he’s pretty much all I think about.”

For a moment Rigsby had no idea how to respond to what Cho had just volunteered. “Oh.” Rigsby said, suddenly feeling like an ass. “Wow. I didn’t know you were that- I mean I had no idea...you, you really have it bad, don’t you?”

“You said you’d shut up and drive.”

CBI

“You want to take Jane off the case? We’ve hardly begun.” Lisbon said to Bertram. Lisbon liked Bertram as a leader. He usually knew where to give her, meaning Jane, lenience and when to rain them both in. But evidently not today.

“You said he was acting a little weird, not an unusual state for Jane I realise, but if there’s any hint of instability in him, I want him off this one, Lisbon. Another media shit-storm is one thing this department cannot afford.”

Lisbon knew Bertram had read all the reports relating to Jane’s abduction by Red John – including her own unwilling part in it – and seen the weeks of television heads all talking to each other about it and was not convinced Jane had come out of it mentally unscathed, despite his ongoing counselling within the CBI psychiatric department.

“Come on, Teresa, we both know Jane was off his rocker when he started working here. You think what he went through six months ago made any improvements?”

“I was there, remember? And I know Jane was badly off at first but he’s made leaps and bounds since then. He is still the best man for this case.”

“Why? Because his kid was murdered?” Bertram was nothing if not blunt.

“Yes, actually. Jane’s motivated. He’ll stop at nothing to find out who did it.”

“Stopping at nothing has always been the worry, hasn’t it?”

Lisbon regretted her choice of words. “Jane knows how these kinds of criminals think. We’ve got as good as our own profiler on staff and you want to pull him?”

“He’s too emotional. Cases like this make him nuts and you know it.”

Lisbon sensed an outside influence. “What is this really about?”

Bertram pressed his lips together. Here comes the truth train, Lisbon thought.

“Lena called me and let me in on his little “hope is useless” speech at the Taylor house. She was hopping mad, Teresa.”

“Is this about the Taylor’s sensibilities or the Families Foundation? Are they worried about losing their best fund-raiser?”

“You can stow that crap right now. This is about Jane and his ongoing PR fuck-ups.”

“All Jane does is say what we’re already thinking.”

“You don’t honestly believe that?”

“I believe that maybe we should be thinking more about the missing girl and less about PR, sir.”

“You’re out of line, agent.”

“Well, as long as we’re being honest. Look – Jane can handle himself and when he can’t, I can handle him.”

“You think you can keep him under control until we find this little girl, even if we find her too late and he blows a gasket at the sight of her? A dead child dug from the ground isn’t a pretty sight.”

Lisbon considered reminding Bertram about the lesser known details of Jane’s personal family tragedy but decided they were none of his damn business. As far as she was concerned Jane’s reputation should rest solely on his nearly four years of closing the tough cases. That ought to be good enough for anyone, even a politically minded pundit like Bertram. He could go fuck himself. “He’s seen worse.”

Bertram nodded. He stood, stretched and strolled casually around his own office. Lisbon recognised it as an oft-used play in their little tete`-a-tete´s . It meant he knew something she didn’t.

“Did he happen to mention that he skipped his psych’ session this week?”

Lisbon felt her guts turn to water. Bertram would pull him now for sure. Almost defeated - “No.”

Bertram rested one elbow on a book shelf and rubbed his face with the palm of his other hand, trying to appeal to her common sense. “That’s what I’m talking about, Teresa. He was under strict orders to attend every session – without fail.” He paused for effect. “If you can’t control him to even that extent, controlling him in any other circumstance to me sounds like a fish story.”

Lisbon knew that she, and therefore Jane, had their backs against a wall. “Let me talk to him. If he has a reasonable explanation, then all I’m asking is for you to give him one more chance. If not...” She left it hanging hoping Bertram would choose not finish the sentence.

He didn’t. “Fine. Okay-fine, he gets one more chance – one.” He held up an index finger to underline it, “and that’s all. Jane misses another session or acts out in front of the cameras or an important client again, he’s off duty until a full psychiatric evaluation can be made - in a hospital - and then he stays there until a fully trained medical professional decides when he can come out and play.”

Lisbon stood, worn to a frazzle. “Thank you, sir.”

CBI

 

Jane knocked on the door of Lena Taylor’s mother’s condo, and an elderly woman with white hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate bun answered.

”Hello?” Her eyes were all but obscured behind very thick glasses that gave her an owlish appearance.

“Hello, Ma’am. My name is Patrick Jane and I’m part of the CBI team looking for your granddaughter. May I speak with your daughter?”

The woman stepped back and called over her shoulder. “Lena. There’s a man here to see you. He’s says he’s from the CBI.”

Lena Taylor came to the door to stand beside her mother. “Is there news?” She asked. Her eyes were puffy.

“Actually, I just had a question. Does Bentley usually come home after school or does he go play with friends, or perhaps participate in an organizational sport of some kind?”

Lena stared at him. “Why do you need to know that? Is there something wrong? Bentley’s in school right now. We’ll be picking him up this afternoon at four. Don’t you have any news about Abbey?”

Jane waved away her concerns with a sweep of his right hand. “No, no news...yet. I was just wondering why you let Bentley go to school while your daughter is missing? Abbey is the second child to disappear from this area in the last two years as I’m sure you’re aware. It just seems to me like you’re not worried about making it three – any behavioural problems with your son? Fighting, causing a ruckus? Aggression against other students?”

Lena’s face hardened. “Why are you asking questions about our son – insulting questions - when Abbey is still missing? Are you completely right in the head? My daughter has been abducted and you’re here asking me about Bentley who adored her. Is this some kind of joke?”

Jane shook his head, his lips pursed. “No, no joke. But now you’re deflecting, why is that? Is there something you feel the need to hide? Most parents do.”

Tigh Taylor came to stand beside his wife and face Jane down. “No. No aggression problems – my god – you think Bentley had something to do with Abbey’s disappearance? That’s insane.”

Tigh Taylor balled his fists and stuck his own face to within an inch of Jane’s. At the father’s increasingly aggressive stance, Jane backed off a step. “Oh, careful, don’t hit the investigator.” Addressing the wife – “Have you called the school, by the way, to make sure Bentley’s all right? It might be a good idea since two girls have disappeared from the area and I believe unless this case is solved, more will disappear soon enough.”

Lena swallowed her anger and collected her cell phone. “Fine, I’ll make the call.”

Tigh Taylor protested. “Lena, this asshole is nuts, don’t bother.” He snarled at Jane – “Bentley’s in school with a hundred other children and twenty teachers – he’s fine!”

“Tigh - never mind. Don’t we want to be sure?” Lena asked her face twisted with new worry.

Tigh Taylor backed down and let his wife ring the school.

“Ms. Anderson? Could you put Bentley’s home room teacher on the phone please? I need to speak to her – what? To the Science Center? Oh right, I’d forgotten about that – I’m sorry? What do you mean? But we dropped him off...“ While Lena listened, her face turned white. “Oh my god, oh my god...”

She dropped the phone to the floor with a clatter and did not notice when it came flying apart. She looked at her husband. “Tigh,” she wailed “She said Bentley was on the school grounds at twelve-thirty and signed on for his afternoon classes, but as far as they can now tell, he isn’t there. They’re-checking-with-his-teachers-to-see-if-anyone-has-seen-him-but-no-one-knows...” Lena Taylor was close to hysterical.

His face purple, Tigh grabbed Jane by his jacket lapels and pulled him up until he was standing on the tips of his toes - “You knew this might happen, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t warn anyone! Are you some kind of goddamn sadist? How did you know my son would disappear? How did you know??”

Jane tried to calm Tigh Taylor by not fighting back, a tactical failure. “I didn’t know – all I have right now are suspicions supported by – well, Lisbon wouldn’t call it evidence but she’s stickler for all that legal jazz.” Jane tried to pry Tigh Taylor’s fingers off his jacket to no avail. They held like talons. At the same time he tried to ignore the burning hate in the man’s eyes, but it was difficult when they were inches apart. Jane swallowed hard. How he hated being man-handled. “Besides, you’re the ones who sent him off to school like it was any other day - own up to it.”

That was enough to pop Tigh Taylor’s last reserve of calm. He hauled back a balled right fist and punched Jane as hard as he could. The man’s appendage was an anvil and it sent Jane sprawling to the concrete step where he landed square on his ass.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Tigh yelled, standing over Jane while Lena pulled on her husband’s arm trying to diffuse things.

Jane wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His phone rang and he stayed where he was, answering it while wincing at each spoken word, preparing to duck should any more stone fists start raining down from above. “Hey Cho.” He managed not to get blood on his cellular by holding it away from his mouth.

“Jane - the Lavalee guy claims he skipped that whole section of the route. Claims he got lost. There was no mail delivery to the Taylor’s on the day Abbey was abducted.” Cho said.

Jane had thought as much but put it aside while he figured out how to get away from Tigh Taylor. Unfortunately Cho, his trusty Glock and his authoritative expression, sounded too far away to come to the rescue. In retrospect it occurred to Jane that it had probably not been the soundest idea to come here alone. By the same token he had not expected to be beat up by an electronics geek either.

“Thanks, Cho.” Jane spit blood and saliva on the step beside him. His jawed, numb just seconds before, was now aching dramatically. He suddenly felt the keen need for a cup of Sleepy Time and a hot-bath.

“You sound funny. Is something wrong?” Cho asked after Jane had stopped talking.

“Oh not much really. Nothing that a short hospital-stay can’t fix.” He hung up without giving Cho the chance to ask more. With relief, Jane put away his cell phone and touched his broken mouth with tender fingers, trying to assess the damage. His bloody lip had already stained his shirt and vest beyond repair.

“Couldn’t you have thrown something at me?” He complained, craning his neck to look up at Tigh Taylor. “Blood is such a hard thing to get out. I’ll have to soak these for hours.”

Seeing the CBI man down on the ground because of his own impulsive fist, Tigh Taylor experienced a hundred-eighty degree change of heart and swiftly calmed down a dozen notches. His facial expression said: I just hit a cop! Fuck me. “Look, Mister Jane, I-I’m sorry. I lost my head.”

Jane did not accept Taylor’s hand of assistance and got to his feet on his own, straightening his vest and jacket. “Forget it. What’s a fractured jaw between, well, I guess we’re not friends...” He took out a tissue and dabbed at the blood still leaking from his split lip. Thankfully a clot was starting to form.

Lena had listened to and witnessed the exchange and, shaking like a leaf and her eyes brimming with fresh tears, asked earnestly “Do you really think Bentley’s been taken, too?”

Jane looked at her directly. It hurt to talk but not as bad as before. “I admit my mouth may fool you, but I actually do understand what it is to lose a child.” Not a minute went by that he did not see his daughter’s death-mask staring back at him during the waking hours and, even worse, in the paralyzed nightmares of slumber.

Lena waited for more and Jane took his eyes away from the pain in hers to add “Eight years ago my own daughter was murdered, along with my wife.” He kept his eyes on the welcome mat so he would not have to subject himself to the pity springing to life in their eyes. “That’s one of the reasons I do this job now.”

At Lena’s gasp and Tigh’s sobered stare, he added “Others would want to play it down but I prefer to be respectfully honest and tell you that no matter what may or may not be happening with Bentley, it’s a good idea to prepare yourselves for the worst.”

Lena Taylor began to cry and Jane advised the husband “You might want to call Agent Lisbon and let her know that your son is now missing too.”

Jane did not wait around to listen in on that phone call. He climbed into his Citron and drove to Grimmly school, then followed the school bus route down the secondary highways and back roads until he reached the Taylor’s rural neighbourhood and, finally, the Taylor’s empty house.

CBI

“Where the hell is Jane?” Lisbon asked Van Pelt.

Van Pelt saw Lisbon’s face and knew Jane was going to have to order in a new ass once Lisbon was done with him. “Uh, I’m not sure, but he’d said he’d meet you at the Taylors place.”

Lisbon frowned, her eyes darkening to inky pools of furious wonder. “Meet him?? I never made arrangements to meet him at the Taylors. The Taylors aren’t even home.”

Van Pelt said under her breath “Whoops.” Then aloud to her boss “Um, he never said why, but that’s what he told me, that he’d meet you there at five this afternoon.”

Lisbon drew her cellular out of her pocket and punched in Jane’s number with animal ferocity. It went to voice mail. “Jane? Where the hell are you? I’ve just spent the better part of an hour defending you to Bertram and then you go and disappear on me?? You better call me when you get this, I shit you not.”

She closed her phone with an unsatisfying snap. Cell phones didn’t have the weight necessary to take out anger upon. You couldn’t in a rage slam a cell phone down on someone and feel better for it. “Dammit!”Lisbon stormed back to her office. “Where the hell is he?”

When next her phone rang, it was the Taylor’s. “Yes, Mister Taylor, what can I do for you?”

CBI

At two that afternoon, Jane picked the back door lock of the Taylor’s empty home and entered. Courtesy the local Sherriff’s office, the Taylor’s in-home security system had been temporarily disabled to allow law enforcement easy access. He had his cell phone with him but had ignored the ringing. Lisbon had dialled him five or six times since he had left Lena Taylor’s mother’s place and calls he already knew would be unpleasant ones he didn’t need to answer.

Jane wandered through the kitchen into the living-room and then the den. There was little to see that he had not already seen twice before but he rifled through the desk and located no weapons case key. Not entirely unexpected.

Jane descended the basement stairs to the dad’s weapons stash in its large mahogany wall display case. Through the glass doors, it was immediately obvious that the collection was not all there. Trying the lock, the door swung open. The crossbow was missing and the quiver of arrows for it was short two. Dad (or someone), was lying when he said he did not target-practise on things that were living. But where was the crossbow and did Dad still have the key?

Jane climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom and opened the door. Bentley’s school science project was a home-made working model of a volcano. The room was thick with the smell of sulphur. The mini volcano sat on Bentley’s toy chest and Jane examined it, concluding that it was a pretty good one for an eleven year-and-some-months-old kid working by himself.

Jane skimmed through some school notes and a book report lying haphazardly on the desk, and then opened the wide main drawer where pencils and pens would usually be kept. Pens and pencils there were and all arranged in neat little compartments. Beside the writing implements lay a flat cardboard box containing erasers and rulers of various lengths. At the back lay a picture book of Bentley’s own making. Jane pulled it out, flipping through it to view careful pencil drawings of hunters and soldiers, all carrying a weapon of choice; a knife, a long bow not unlike Tigh Taylor’s, a sword. One had a spear in his hand and was dispatching a zombie through the head.

The drawings were somewhat disturbing but then considering the games Bentley had been playing they were still fairly mild stuff.

The smell in the room was becoming overpowering and Jane went to the sliding window, trying to open it and let in some fresher air. It was stuck fast.

Then he heard a sound he didn’t recognise. A soft creaking sound, and another higher pitched sound he couldn’t place at first, but it was like the sound a wire might make if it were being stretched to its limit. Jane turned to look but didn’t quite make it all the way around before he was struck in the gut by what felt like a small missile. The force of it threw him back a foot until his back hit the wall. He stared down at himself in shock and saw a thin section of feathered wood sticking out of his lower stomach just below and to the right of his belly button. About four inches of the arrow was still exposed to the air. Blood surfaced and pooled around the wooden shaft then began running down his abdomen to his hip and thigh, rapidly soaking his shirt and pants, and adding more blood stains to his ensemble of those already present courtesy Tigh Taylor’s furious fist.

Against his will, the strength in Jane’s legs drained out of him and he slid down the wall until his backside came to rest on the carpet. It too soon became stained in red.

Bentley Taylor watched him from the doorway. There was already another arrow loaded in the crossbow, ready to fire at the touch of his hand. Bentley did, in fact, have his finger on the trigger mechanism but Jane could not have moved if he wanted to. Through the pain, Jane swallowed his fear and the sudden dryness of his tongue, managing a quiet “Hey Bentley.”

Bentley relaxed slightly and drew his finger away from the firing control but his eyes never left his target. “Hey Mister Jane.” He answered back. “What’s up?”

CBI

 

Reaching with a shaky hand, Jane managed to gather a tee-shirt that had been discarded to the floor and bundle it in his fist, holding it to the wound below the protruding shaft. He thought to pull the arrow out of his gut but had no idea if that might cause more damage. Besides the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been moments before, although Jane had no idea whether that was a positive sign or not. Probably not.

Mostly he kept his eyes on Bentley, the gingery-haired eleven-plus year-old pointing a lethal looking, loaded crossbow directly his way. It hurt to breath, so Jane did so as shallowly as he could manage and still talk. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” Jane said.

Bentley stared back unblinking. He had shrewd eyes and a steady hand with the weapon. “Really?”

“Nah. I had a good idea it was probably you who killed your sister, I just never expected you t-“ For a few intense seconds, an intense abdominal pain interrupted their verbal exchange – “to come hah-home, at least not so fast. It’s a - it’s a nine mile walk.”

“Nine and half. And I don’t walk, I run.”

“But she is dead, right? Abbey is dead?”

Bentley sat down on a stool across the room from his victim but not once did he lower the crossbow. “She would have told.”

Jane nodded; the pain that had gone away was coming back in waves that travelled up his torso and down his right leg. He wondered if the arrow point was pinching a major nerve. “About stealing your dad’s weapons-case key during the week and taking the crossbow, and shooting all those birds while the nanny was taking all those the naps she wasn’t supposed to. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah. I knew I should have buried the birds. Dad had no idea his case was unlocked. I always put the crossbow back and lock it up again by Friday or on the days I know he goes shooting.”

“Yeah.” Jane agreed. “You’re not an idiot. You’re an eleven year old psychotic who likes to kill living things including people but you’re not stupid.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you’re already an avid outdoorsman.”

“I like the woods. My dad only wanted to shoot at paper targets indoors. He’s so lame.”

“Sure, lame. They’re worried sick about you, you know, and about Abbey – won’t they be surprised.” In the worst way possible.

“I told everyone she had gone outside.” Bentley said absently, looking at Jane’s shoes, then his pants, then his chest and face.

Jane had the distinct feeling he has just been sized up for body storage options. “I know. The mail truck was a good excuse to get outside and try and lure Abbey outside too, only she wouldn’t go. The problem was the mail tru-AH! the-the mail truck didn’t actually come like he was supposed to, so you lied about that part and presented the so-called mail to the nanny later - which was I expect just a fist full of junk mail from an earlier day that you found in the trash.”

“Stupid mail-man didn’t show. He almost screwed it all up for me.”

“Actually it did. That first lie is what made you my top suspect.”

“You’re a smart guy, Mister Jane. No one else even looked twice at me. Was that all? Just that one lie?”

“Plus you were nervous.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. Most people, even kids, are worried or crying or scared when a sibling disappears, but you were nervous and trying to h-hide it by keeping your attention on your video game and not on us, but I could see you weren’t actually enjoying the game at all.”

“I was already bored with it.”

Jane nodded to himself. Bentley had been getting bored with his family, too.

Bentley asked “So why did you come here?”

“I was trying to figure out what you would do with Abbey – not bury her in the woods, the ground would be too hard this time of year and the police d-dogs would have...” A gasp as another spasm hit him hard. Jane panted for a few second before continuing. “...sniffed out her buried body, but I suspect you knew they would never bring the dogs into the house - and you’re right, they don’t do that unless drug trafficking or a stashed body is suspected. No one would think her own brother would have her hidden in the house.” It was a lengthy speech and at the end of it Jane was out of breath.

“No they don’t.”

“No.” Jane repeated, still breathless but struggling with every word. He was very tired, so tired it was difficult to pay attention, to even keep his eyes open. “Why kill her, Bentley? It wasn’t all about her telling was it, because if that’s true, that’s just - what was that word? Lame? Come on, wasn’t it the thrill? You wanted to see real blood.”

“No blood.”

Jane frowned. Yes, of course. He should have seen that. There wouldn’t be any blood. “No, of course no blood, not with Abbey. Now that I should have guessed. No, you would not risk getting any blood on yourself or any stains that might become visible. You strangled her, didn’t you? Your strangled own baby sister, so you could...keep shooting arrows in the woods.”

Bentley, tired of talking, fingered the crossbow, stroking its polished wood like a lover, and keeping the crossbow trained on the center of Jane’s chest. “You heard her.”

“Heard who?”

“She was going to be home all the time.”

A small light shone back on the conversations with witnesses and parents over the last few days. “Abbey was about to start Grade Two and your mother was going to home-school the both of you every day, wasn’t she? No more sleeping nanny. No more trips to the woods. No more fun.”

The stink of the volcano’s inactive sulphur spout was growing stronger. Jane turned his head to stare at it. The well-done home-grown child’s science project was stinking up the entire room, and burning his nostrils, an innocent object protecting its not-so-innocent creator. “Poor Abbey’s in the toy chest, isn’t she?”

Sitting as still as any object in the room, Bentley nodded once. His eyes never left Jane for a moment.

“It was okay to keep her there initially. I expect you wrapped her in several layers of plastic bags and put her on the bottom, covering her over with toys. Did they look for her in the house?” Jane asked. He was too tired to remember.

Bentley shrugged at the incompetence of the local Sherriff’s office and Jane and his colleagues. “Sure.”

“But they never checked the toy chest, did they? Or, if they did, it was cursory, maybe they opened it and peeked but it was filled with toys. Who would suspect Abbey’s loving brother of killing her and stuffing her in there?” Jane’s laboured breathing also filled the room, like the sulphur stink. “But after two days she would have begun to smell, therefore the volcano idea. Good choice for a science project; geophysical history, chemistry, plus a strong smell to cover the stench of your baby sister’s rotting corpse.”

“I would have buried her eventually, when I had enough time.”

“Well, that day was today, wasn’t it?” Jane insisted. “Orchestrate your own disappearance from school by signing into your afternoon classes but not showing up. Run the eight miles or so back to your parent’s property. I’ll bet you ran almost the whole way – how long did that take you anyway?”

Bentley shrugged. “About two hours.”

Jane looked at the clock on the wall; it was pushing on four in the afternoon.

Bentley saw him look and raised the crossbow until it was lined up with his neck. “Who are you waiting for, Mister Jane?”

“Would rescue be too much to ask, do you think?”

Bentley shrugged again and Jane was afraid the killer-child might be getting bored with the conversation, so Jane decided to ask “Are you planning on killing me, too?”

“Not sure. I like you I guess - a little. You don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

An enormous wave of pain travelled up and down his body and he gasped. “W-well, y-you’re welcome.” Jane’s phone trilled for his attention. “That’s probably my rescuer. May I answer it? It’s probably my boss and she can get – wow - so snippy when I ignore her.”

“Sure, but they can’t come in yet.”

Jane looked at the arrow in his abdomen and also the one ready in the crossbow’s trigger. “Really? Not yet? This arrow is really cramping my life-style.”

Bentley meant business. “Tell them if they try to come in, I’ll shoot you again, and I don’t miss.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that.”

With a shaking hand Jane reached into his suit jacket pocket and withdrew his ringing cellular. He managed to still his trembling fingers enough to find and press the correct button. “Hey Lisbon.”

“Where the hell are you!?”

“Didn’t Grace tell you?”

“Okay, new question: why in the hell are you at the Taylor’s and not answering your phone?”

“I just answered it.”

“Look, Jane, I don’t know what you think you’re-“

“ -Can we agree that you can chew my ass off later? I’m in a bit of a prickly pickle right now.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Well, to answer your first question, I came to the Taylor’s to find evidence. I found it. I am also being held captive by an eleven year-old murderer named Bentley. Side note - he’s also shot me.”

With his mind’s eye Jane could see Lisbon’s pretty face blanch over and the wheels of what-to-do in her head start spinning at Mach One. “We’re on our way. Are you all right?” Lisbon put her cellular on speaker, covered the mouth-piece long enough to bark at her employees to gather around and listen in as they swiftly marched outside to the vehicles.

Jane felt dizzy and weak. “Not so much. I’ve been shot with an arrow, so not fine actually.”

Under her breath Lisbon said “Jesus”, and then to Jane “How bad?”

“The blood is going to ruin my suit. I’m submitting my dry-cleaning bills to you from now-on, just so we’re clear.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Oh, about two hours in the house, one and a half with the arrow sticking out of my abdomen and the other thirty minutes or so sitting on the floor talking to Bentley the murderer. That a-about c-covers it.”

The stress, the shock of the loss of blood and the lengthy conversation with Lisbon was sapping the last of his strength and Jane suddenly weakened beyond recovery. He felt himself slowly drift sideways and knew he would not be able to right himself again. “Oh, boy, Lisbon, now – now I’m falling.”

“Don’t hang up!” she said into the phone as they piled into a CBI issued SUV, her heart racing as Cho made the call to the Sherriff’s office, giving instructions for he and his deputies not to rush the house, but rather wait for the team to arrive.

“We’re coming, Jane, right now.” She said. “Help’s coming.” She strapped herself in. When the other end of the line was silent - “Jane? Are you still there? Stay with me, okay?” It was difficult to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Jane had managed to hang onto his phone, but he was sprawled sideways, his face toward Bentley, his legs useless and his arms the consistency of warm Jello. “Ste-still here.” He said into the cell’s tiny microphone.

Lisbon’s heart slowed down a few paltry beats per second. “Do you know what he wants? What he’s planning to do?”

Jane didn’t really know, so he decided to ask. “Hey Bentley, when my team arrives, are you going to let them in so, you know, they can save my life? Pluh-please s-say yes.” When Bentley didn’t answer right away, he tried a different tack. “What are your plans, by the way? Because eventually you know they’re going to come rushing through that door? They’re the police. That’s whu-what they do, they c-come to the rescue with guns and fists and stuff.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to live with my parents anymore.”

“That I can pretty much guarantee.”

“Do you know anything about Juvenile Hall? I heard it was pretty cool.”

Jane congratulated himself a little. Hope was looking up. “No, but I know just the guy you can talk to about that.” Jane was curious. “If you don’t mind my asking - did you hate your sister?”

Bentley had lowered the crossbow and Jane’s relief was enormous. “No. I didn’t really feel anything about her.” Bentley explained in a voice that said it puzzled even him. “But I don’t like my parents much. They’re boring.”

“So why not kill them?”

Bentley smirked. “Then where would I live stupid?”

Jane closed his eyes, resting them for a moment. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake, and the carpet was so nice and warm - comforting. “Oh, right, good thinking.” Jane said. Laying still and panting for a moment more. Talking was now a huge effort. “He-ey Bentley.”

“What?”

“Can they please come in now? Juvi Hall will be different than living with your parents – you might even like it and I’m-I’m pretty shh-u-u-re I’m going to pass out soon.”

Bentley thought about it. Outside sirens approached. “Do you think they’ll shoot me if I don’t let you go?”

“If y-you don’t let me go in the next few minutes then prah-probably, yes. It’ll be huh-harder on you if I die. And on me, too ‘course.”

“Then I guess so.” Bentley stood and walked over to Jane, grabbing the cellular phone from Jane’s limp hand. The numbers were sticky with blood and Bentley wiped them off on his tee-shirt. “But I get to make the call. It’s last number dialled, right?”

Jane nodded.

Bentley pressed the correct buttons and it rang at the other end. Then without warning Bentley reached down and grabbed hold of the arrow sticking out of Jane’s body, yanking it as hard as he could. It came out with as sickening wet pop, making Jane cry out. Fresh blood leaked out of the wound. Bentley explained. “And I want my arrow back first.”

Jane was beyond response when the officers rushed in, guns drawn, only to find Bentley sitting in front of his video game and Jane unconscious on the floor next to the toy chest.

CBI

“How are you feeling?”

It was Lisbon, Cho and the team at his hospital bed-side. “Like a chicken-kabob.”

“Bentley’s been taken into custody.” Grace explained. “His parents basically fell apart when we told them what he did to you.”

Jane remembered. “Abbey’s in the toy box.”

Lisbon nodded. “We know. The volcano was covering up the smell but once it was removed and the room was aired out ...”

Jane nodded. “The Chadwick girl is most likely buried in the woods somewhere between the school and the Taylor’s place. It’s a nine mile stretch of forest but at least it’s narrow. I suspect Bentley lured her away from school, probably during a lunch hour. Use the cadaver dogs, and whoever finds her’ll likely see she died of multiple punctures. More arrows.”

“Already done.” Cho said to him, his eyes watching Jane’s face closely. “You took a big risk.” If Lisbon wasn’t going to say it, he would.

Lisbon kept her cool but her face said it all. “This isn’t the first time you’ve gone into an investigation keeping things from me - from us.” She pointed out. “Not to mention entering a potentially deadly situation with no back-up.” Shaking her head “I don’t know what to do with you, Jane. Bertram’s ready to fire us both.”

Jane had the decency to look guilty but still defended himself. “I did call for back-up.”

Lisbon’s face basically said Talk to the hand! “You didn’t call for backup, you made a five o’clock appointment.”

“At least you weren’t late.” He joked feebly and, not surprisingly, it fell on deaf ears.

Lisbon sighed deeply. “I’m glad you’re all right but the medical personnel around here are getting to know you by name. Having said that Bertram’s made it crystal clear, one more screw up like this and he’ll fire us both. So, Jane, should I start cleaning out my desk right now or what?”

Jane looked away from her accusing, and disappointed, eyes. “No, don’t clean out your desk.”

She nodded. “Good, good to hear.” Lisbon stood. “Now get some rest. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

Before she left the room, Jane said. “Not that it doesn’t need cleaning. Two words, Lisbon: Dust Rag.”

Rigsby and Van Pelt wished him better health and left him alone with Cho. They seemed to understand and were doing their best to facilitate Jane and Cho’s clandestine sort-of-sort-of-not relationship when Lisbon wasn’t around to witness it.  
Jane looked up at Cho who moved to his bedside. “S’pose you want to yell, too?”

As direct as ever - “Yes.”

“Can I go to sleep first?”

Cho took a moment and stared down at Jane. “I want to yell. Honestly I’d like to beat some sense into you, but I know it wouldn’t change your behaviour because you’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch who’ll never toe the line.”

“So, no yelling then? You’re right, threats and insults are more effective.”

Cho leaned down and kissed Jane on the lips tenderly. “But you almost died yesterday and I’m thinking maybe that’s a better lesson.”

CBI

Jane knocked on Lisbon’s door.

“Jane.” She said in greeting.

Jane was relieved to see no animosity in her gaze. In fact, she smiled. “Welcome back.”

It was safe to enter and he did, easing himself down onto her visitor’s chair. “Anything new?”

“You mean cases? Not so far this morning. But the Bentley kid pleaded guilty and was sent away for seven years.”

“No cure for a serial killer.”

Lisbon thought as much, but switched to other topics. “How’s the hole?”

Jane could still feel stiffness in his abdominal muscles but not enough to keep him home. He had been going stir-crazy at Cho’s alone all day with nothing to do but read. “Good, it’s good.”

“I’m glad.” She knew Jane had stayed at Cho’s but currently that’s all she knew and presently did not want to inquire any further. Jane was injured. Cho took care of him. End of story. Before the small talk got out of hand, Lisbon decided to ask inquire about she’d been pondering over for a long time. “Okay, this is a total invasion of privacy but I’m finally going to ask.”

Jane sat up straighter.

“What...what was...um, your wife like?” At his uncomfortable pause, she added. “Too personal? I’m sorry, I just I mean you’ve met my brother and my niece and I don’t know hardly anything ....about...them.” What she was curious about was what kind of woman would decide to be with Patrick Jane for life? And Lisbon didn’t wonder it because she thought Jane wasn’t a kind or decent man, but because his wife had greatly influenced him during their nine short years together, changing him from the somewhat unsavoury character he had been into a faithful husband and adoring father. And then with her death Angela Jane had drastically impacted him again.

And then of course, there was Red John’s ongoing influence over him but Lisbon knew all she needed to about Red John, at least for the time being. She also knew better than to ask about his daughter, Charlotte, a far too emotionally touchy subject with Jane, but the wife ought to be a safe enough topic - she hoped. “Do you mind the question?”

Jane stared at Lisbon for a moment. “No. No, I don’t mind. What was she like?” He repeated, looking at his folded hands and then at her once again. “She was a lot like you.”

Whatever answer Lisbon had expected it was not that. “Like me?”

Jane nodded, studying the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “Yes. Angela was young, smart, pretty.’ He began, looking at the ceiling, recalling further details. “Ambitious, exacting, demanding and pig-headedly uncompromising when it came to lunch and coffee breaks – a tyrannical task-master of the first order-“

 

Lisbon almost hit Jane with her note book as he dashed from the office.

CBI-Case closed!

TO BE CLEAR! These Mentalist fic's are in chronological order, just as the series is. Sometimes, a plot might continue from one story to the next. Other times, it will be as though a few days or weeks have gone by, as in an arc story. All can be read as stand-alone’s but starting with Case #1, Red Matter, is the best idea.  
Case #1: RED MATTER - Red John takes Jane for a second time and this time Lisbon is along for the ride. (Complete – case-file is closed).  
Case #2: STRAWBERRY GOLDEN HAIR SURPRISE - One in every twenty people you meet is a psychopath. (in progress – open case)  
COMING SOON:  
Case #3: RED MATTER - AND SHATTER, The sequel to Red Matter, a Mentalist story. Summary: A continuation of Red Matter, where this time Jane actively hunts Red John, not the other way around, but the team does not appreciate his methods.  
Case #4: LITTLE RED LIES - A Mentalist Fic' - A court-room Mentalist angsty drama where Jane's lawyer has to pull out all stops to save Jane from going to jail. The issues of Jane and Lisbon’s abductions in Red Matter, among other things, will be explored further here. Jane pain!  
Case #5: Red is the Colour... - Jane is a victim of a cleverly orchestrated date-rape but bringing the already known perpetrator to justice could risk the future of the CBI Homicide Department, and Lisbon and the team's jobs. Angst and some non-graphic Jane-pain.


End file.
